Honey Badgers and Honey Childs
Hola, Wild Boy friends, family and followers, and a very happy Labor Day weekend from la Casa. I hope this fantastic weekend brings everyone an extra day off or fantastic holiday pay. Here in la casa, it is a tumultuous time indeed.
You see, Gavin in eleven. I could stop typing right there, realistically, and you would probably all understand to some extent and nod sympathetically. But confession is cathartic, and you know y'all just come back to eat popcorn and read in open mouth shock what a day in the life is like. Who am I to disappoint?
Let me set the stage here. You all know Gavin started middle school this year. I'm not allowed to say Junior High, because the cop starts breathing all ragged and gets sweaty. So, we'll just humor him and say middle school because somehow that seems better to him. Whatever. At the beginning of the school year we decided that our after school routine would be all shook up, and the kids would go home some of our friends after school instead of to daycare. This involves a bus for Gabe and walking for Gavin, and we finally caved in and got them cell phones.
I know, you are ALL rolling your eyes and settling back in your chairs with your judgy panties on about what crappy parents provide their kids this kind of technology at this age. Simmer down, ladies and gents. All of you with kids in fact are raising kids with access to cell phones, whether or not they own them or they borrow yours. Want to know how I know? Because my kids are ON THE PHONE with them. Go ahead, check and see. I guarantee your little "no more than two hours of screen time" cherubs who have NO IDEA how to access anything inappropriate have been using your phones and know one million times more than you realize. We provided them with cell phones that I have access to, know the passwords for, and check with the regularity of a college student checking their bank account when direct deposit is supposed to be hitting. In exchange for this? I get a glimpse into their lives, I get my cell phone free of the massive amount of memory that Fortnite consumes, and I have the ultimate weapon: cell phone confiscation.
But really, this is just one part of all the developments unfolding for Gav. See, he's currently at a party for a GIRL at the movies (insert ME breathing ragged and sweating here), and in two short weeks is the first dance at school. That's a whole lot of pressure on a poor Momma, and apparently on an eleven year old as well because that boy has been a little surly lately. I am pretty sure it's a combination of hormones and exhaustion factoring largely in the change from my sunshiny little sweetheart to the rabid, snarling honey badger I have to contend with whenever something doesn't go his way. It's almost biblical. Think rending of garments and gnashing of teeth, and then apply it to situations like "mom won't buy me slides at Under Armor" while completely ignoring the fact that hundreds of dollars were being spent on WINTER clothes...you get the picture.
Two things are working on his behalf, though: I already survived his three older siblings, and his baby brother is soaking up his position in the house as sweet angel child so the friction is minimized. Gabe, while exhausting in his non-stop chatter, is still absolutely the most random and wildly entertaining kid ever. His conversations start with things like "I'm not a fan of fun Friday, mom. I'm there to learn, I love to learn, I want to learn. In fact lately I just swing at recess because I don't have to think to swing. I need to save all my thinking space for the learning." And when you start kind of tuning him out because it's all getting a bit repetitive and you kind of think you know where it's going he peppers in little gems like "and that's when my entire toenail fell off. It could have been from dropping the hydroflask on it, or from shooting it with the rubber band gun while I was reloading, I'm not really sure. All I know is it creeps out Hayden and since I got the Vans with no laces I can take off my shoes really easy to chase him around with my naked toe tip." Then I'm forced to snap back to attention because apparently my kid is missing a toenail and I should apologize to another parent for the trauma he's causing. But then we'll lull back with something like "I just love choir too. The teacher takes songs that should be hard and boring but he makes them fun and he's way better than my classroom music teacher because he just talks without playing any music or singing" and I start to space out, and then I snap to when he finishes with "so my only real question then, Momma, is what IS federalism?" DAMMIT! What did I just miss? Still, this is all infinitely easier than dealing with the honey badger pre-teen.
What I've taken from this age though, is that every one of my conversations with my mother should start with an apology because Gavin is just as unpleasant as I was (so Karma is real, people - very, very real) and that technology has made this time WAY more difficult on not only the kids, but the families. See, I remember stretching the phone cord as far as humanly possible for some privacy then laying there in sweats and dirty hair glamour chatting forever. But kids these days, masochists that they are, refuse to just talk on the phone. Instead, the little creeps face time. This started as an issue when the boys tried repeatedly to face time the cop and I at work. Somehow, when there's a combative detainee in the back of a cage car doesn't seem like the optimal time to have your kiddo's face pop up on the phone. So we said they could only CALL us. I thought this would end the drama for me. It didn't, because Gav constantly walks through the house facetiming friends. Which means not only does everyone always need to be fully clothed, I feel obligated to tidy up and hide the alcohol these kids necessitate. I'm not a fan. And Gav? well, not only does he have to "look good" he feels obligated to do jackass boy things like impress the girl on the phone by jumping down flights of stairs or sliding down railings. The only consolation I take from this is that when CPS starts interviewing us in the emergency room I can just call up whatever other eleven year old was on the phone and have them verify my statement. You know it's coming, right?
Anyhow, from our Casa to yours, have a great Labor Day. Here's to hoping you are spared any pre-teen outbursts, facetime humiliation, or having to call any parents to apologize about toenail trauma.
Until next time - happy parenting!
You see, Gavin in eleven. I could stop typing right there, realistically, and you would probably all understand to some extent and nod sympathetically. But confession is cathartic, and you know y'all just come back to eat popcorn and read in open mouth shock what a day in the life is like. Who am I to disappoint?
Let me set the stage here. You all know Gavin started middle school this year. I'm not allowed to say Junior High, because the cop starts breathing all ragged and gets sweaty. So, we'll just humor him and say middle school because somehow that seems better to him. Whatever. At the beginning of the school year we decided that our after school routine would be all shook up, and the kids would go home some of our friends after school instead of to daycare. This involves a bus for Gabe and walking for Gavin, and we finally caved in and got them cell phones.
I know, you are ALL rolling your eyes and settling back in your chairs with your judgy panties on about what crappy parents provide their kids this kind of technology at this age. Simmer down, ladies and gents. All of you with kids in fact are raising kids with access to cell phones, whether or not they own them or they borrow yours. Want to know how I know? Because my kids are ON THE PHONE with them. Go ahead, check and see. I guarantee your little "no more than two hours of screen time" cherubs who have NO IDEA how to access anything inappropriate have been using your phones and know one million times more than you realize. We provided them with cell phones that I have access to, know the passwords for, and check with the regularity of a college student checking their bank account when direct deposit is supposed to be hitting. In exchange for this? I get a glimpse into their lives, I get my cell phone free of the massive amount of memory that Fortnite consumes, and I have the ultimate weapon: cell phone confiscation.
But really, this is just one part of all the developments unfolding for Gav. See, he's currently at a party for a GIRL at the movies (insert ME breathing ragged and sweating here), and in two short weeks is the first dance at school. That's a whole lot of pressure on a poor Momma, and apparently on an eleven year old as well because that boy has been a little surly lately. I am pretty sure it's a combination of hormones and exhaustion factoring largely in the change from my sunshiny little sweetheart to the rabid, snarling honey badger I have to contend with whenever something doesn't go his way. It's almost biblical. Think rending of garments and gnashing of teeth, and then apply it to situations like "mom won't buy me slides at Under Armor" while completely ignoring the fact that hundreds of dollars were being spent on WINTER clothes...you get the picture.
Two things are working on his behalf, though: I already survived his three older siblings, and his baby brother is soaking up his position in the house as sweet angel child so the friction is minimized. Gabe, while exhausting in his non-stop chatter, is still absolutely the most random and wildly entertaining kid ever. His conversations start with things like "I'm not a fan of fun Friday, mom. I'm there to learn, I love to learn, I want to learn. In fact lately I just swing at recess because I don't have to think to swing. I need to save all my thinking space for the learning." And when you start kind of tuning him out because it's all getting a bit repetitive and you kind of think you know where it's going he peppers in little gems like "and that's when my entire toenail fell off. It could have been from dropping the hydroflask on it, or from shooting it with the rubber band gun while I was reloading, I'm not really sure. All I know is it creeps out Hayden and since I got the Vans with no laces I can take off my shoes really easy to chase him around with my naked toe tip." Then I'm forced to snap back to attention because apparently my kid is missing a toenail and I should apologize to another parent for the trauma he's causing. But then we'll lull back with something like "I just love choir too. The teacher takes songs that should be hard and boring but he makes them fun and he's way better than my classroom music teacher because he just talks without playing any music or singing" and I start to space out, and then I snap to when he finishes with "so my only real question then, Momma, is what IS federalism?" DAMMIT! What did I just miss? Still, this is all infinitely easier than dealing with the honey badger pre-teen.
What I've taken from this age though, is that every one of my conversations with my mother should start with an apology because Gavin is just as unpleasant as I was (so Karma is real, people - very, very real) and that technology has made this time WAY more difficult on not only the kids, but the families. See, I remember stretching the phone cord as far as humanly possible for some privacy then laying there in sweats and dirty hair glamour chatting forever. But kids these days, masochists that they are, refuse to just talk on the phone. Instead, the little creeps face time. This started as an issue when the boys tried repeatedly to face time the cop and I at work. Somehow, when there's a combative detainee in the back of a cage car doesn't seem like the optimal time to have your kiddo's face pop up on the phone. So we said they could only CALL us. I thought this would end the drama for me. It didn't, because Gav constantly walks through the house facetiming friends. Which means not only does everyone always need to be fully clothed, I feel obligated to tidy up and hide the alcohol these kids necessitate. I'm not a fan. And Gav? well, not only does he have to "look good" he feels obligated to do jackass boy things like impress the girl on the phone by jumping down flights of stairs or sliding down railings. The only consolation I take from this is that when CPS starts interviewing us in the emergency room I can just call up whatever other eleven year old was on the phone and have them verify my statement. You know it's coming, right?
Anyhow, from our Casa to yours, have a great Labor Day. Here's to hoping you are spared any pre-teen outbursts, facetime humiliation, or having to call any parents to apologize about toenail trauma.
Until next time - happy parenting!
I feel for you dear cousin but I have to admit I love reading about your mayhem.
ReplyDelete